Cats and chats

I am working on my novel this week, around some social engagements. Must get it to the final draft level for the new year. It torments me now, having lived for so long, all the characters frozen inside my head and on those pages. Nancy will charm the world, I am sure of it.

Redrafting is part of the hard graft. The bit most new writers hate. I am an older writer and I frown and sulk at it too, but I’ll plough on. Rob is urging me to get things completed and this is my weakness. It’s time to show the world more of what I can do.

As usual, so much to do. Business plans, dreams, hopes. Still feel vaguely jaded, that must be the obvious. Chatting online is such a dull business – mostly. I can reel them in with my words. Always. But who will challenge and enthrall me?

Bessie the black cat is curled up on my sofa. She will coax me to bed soon, jump on my wheelchair and rub me. I will of course obey because she does know best.